Only as I stood in front of the nondescript headquarters of the TDCM did I regret it.

I shouldn’t have come. They’d never let me in to see inside their precious vault. It had been made clear to me countless times that a hearth witch wasn’t good enough to set foot inside their inner sanctum.

But I want to see the mysterious parchment Alistair told me about.

Lie. Admit it, you didn’t come to see a piece of paper. You came to see Alistair.

Had I really talked myself into believing we could have something more than great sex? A chasm stretched between us. One I didn’t know if I could, or even should, cross. As a sorceress, I shouldn’t exist. I might be his equal, but the world didn’t know that. The wizards would never accept that.

A relationship, even the hint of one, was a distraction I didn’t need right now.

A fork in my life had arrived. I could see it looming in front of me. On the one branch, I had the choice of remaining in hiding. Being a good little witch who didn’t rock the broom.

The other road had me declaring my status as sorceress and a wizard’s equal. Not disguising my true abilities.

A chance to be me.

But there was one glaring issue with my coming out. Perhaps I was ready to reveal myself, but what of the other sorcerers? Did I have the right to make that choice for them?

A part of me wanted to scream, “It’s my life, too, I should get to choose,” but I couldn’t be a total selfish bitch and make that choice for those who were happy hiding.

A conundrum with no resolution.

I sighed as I looked in front of me at the worn concrete steps into the nondescript TDCM building. The metal handrail embedded in the stairs, chipped in places where the paint had peeled from age—and cheapness. The TDCM saw no reason to pretty up the exterior of their building. They were about not drawing attention.

So much hiding. What would really happen if the world knew magic, real magic, existed?

The humans had dealt well—better than anticipated—with the emergence of other species. Sure, there’d been some violence. You kind of had to expect it. The world wasn’t a perfect place, not even always a nice one. However, at the core, the majority of people were good.

If that were the case, then why was I afraid?

Despite the battle going on within, my feet moved of their own accord. The front door to the building yielded to my touch. An electrical shock skimmed over my body and skin, a spell meant to check me out.

One of hundreds humanity remained ignorant of.

Can you imagine the industries that could be built if magic worked openly with science? Why didn’t that possibility alone make it viable for magic to admit its presence?

I could make a fortune openly selling my hangover cures and the one that grew thick lashes.

Thinking about stupid things helped me ignore the fact that I’d stepped inside.

The lure of the vault pulled me, but the bigger magnet remained Alistair. I couldn’t stay away.

Chin held high, I strutted like I belonged. I wore heels today—the thick and clomping kind. The type that said, “you can’t pretend you don’t hear me coming.”

The fellow at the desk was the same snotty bastard as before. He kept his nose bent, deliberately pretending he didn’t hear the horse-trot cadence striking the tile.

I didn’t wait for him to look up. “Grande Mago Fitzroy is expecting me,” I declared. I skipped the niceties. Nice hadn’t worked last time, and he was already pissing me off.

“Wait your turn.”

I blinked. Wait for whom? I stood alone in front of the desk.

Was Snooty on the phone? His ears appeared bare of listening devices. No sign of a phone, not even a cellular kind. Add to that the fact that he didn’t converse aloud with anyone.

There was no one here. Did that mean he talked to someone in his mind?

Mother had raised me not to be rude. What if he did talk to someone I couldn’t see or hear?

Then why did he scroll on his tablet, stopping on an image in some social media timeline?

Oh, hell no. I slapped my hand down on his desk. “Oh, you do not want to be screwing with me today.”

He lifted a bored—and slightly sneering—countenance. “Wait your turn. Witch.”

“You shouldn’t have said that.” I shook my head and tsked. I drew on some magic, just a little so as not to set off any alarms, and clenched my fist, grasping invisible fabric and lifting it.

The snotty receptionist gasped. “What are you doing?”

“She is putting you down,” boomed a voice, hinting of laughter.

I turned to see Alistair, looking dashing as always in a fresh pair of slacks and another of those V-necked shirts.

Damn, he looked good in those.

“Why should I put him down?” I gave him a little shake. “He’s an annoying twat who can’t even muster enough magic to pry one of my fingers loose. This is what passes for a wizard?”

It was kind of pathetic. I knew plenty of so-called witches who didn’t even try for higher sorceress magic who had more power than this. And we were considered inferior?

“The college standards have seemingly been lowered. The specimens coming out of them lately are definitely not on par with previous generations.”

“I’m plenty strong in magic,” blustered the asshat. “I’m just not supposed to use it in public.”

I snickered. “Is that really what you’re going with?” A little shake up and down had him screeching with terror. He probably didn’t do amusement parks, given his low threshold for adventure.

Alistair tried to hide a smile. “Put the wizard down.”

“But what if I want to keep him as a pet?” Baring my teeth had the lovely effect of making Snotty blanch.

“He’d make a piss-poor pet. I’ve got something more interesting. Come see the parchment I told you about.” Alistair held out his hand.

I eyed it suspiciously. I knew what that hand was capable of. Touching me and making me want things. It also brought extreme pleasure, as did other parts of him.

My gaze strayed, and his voice dropped an octave when he repeated, “Come with me, Willow.”

Yes. Yes, I wanted to come.

And I meant it as dirty as it sounded.

I opened my fist and let the twerp drop. He hit his chair. The armrest held, but I wasn’t sure if his ribs did. The good news for him? He had access to healers so he wouldn’t be whining for long.

I, on the other hand, had just attacked a wizard. At least that was how they’d see it. Never mind the snot had asked for it. I, a lowly witch, had dared to lay a magical hand on one of them.

Something they’d question.

I’ll have to tell them I’m a sorceress. I’d have to divulge my secret. Look at that, I made a decision.

The world would just have to live with it.

I stepped toward Alistair, his hand still outstretched.

Don’t take it. I’m still mad. The man had totally played me the night before. Coming into my bedroom. Looking ridiculously sexy. Was it any wonder we had mind-blowing sex?

Exactly why was I mad at him again?

My fingers reached out and laced through his. A public display of affection between a wizard and a supposed witch.

The TDCM didn’t collapse in horror.

A tingle went through me as he tightened his grip and drew me closer. “Are you always connected to trouble?”

“As much as possible. It keeps me looking young.”

At that, he barked in laughter, the sound deep and rich. “You are fascinating.”

“Thanks.” What else could I say when my insides turned to warm putty? I mean, seriously, when a man said he found you fascinating in a seriously hot and low voice… Total melting of parts.

He kept hold of my hand as we walked through the halls. Did he fear I’d run off?

Maybe he wants to hold my hand. I certainly enjoyed it. Say what you would, there was something intimate about the gesture. Something that said, “mine.”

It caused more than a few curious looks as we passed people in the halls. Some sneered. Others managed disdain. I kept my chin high.

I am just as strong as most of you. I deserve to be here.

“Don’t worry,” Alistair murmured.

“Let me guess,” I muttered. “You’ll protect me.” How like a guy to assume I needed help. My father and brothers were the same way.

“Don’t tell me you’re too lazy to care for yourself all of a sudden?” he teased.

“No.”

“Good. I was talking more about being worried about the parchment.”

Hunh? “Never even entered my mind. Why would I be scared?”

“Um, you haven’t heard what happened.”

“Not exactly…what happened?” As if he could leave me hanging.

“Some people who looked at it were adversely affected.”

Like pulling teeth. “Affected how?”

He paused before a wall made of white marble, inset with a small door. As soon as he tapped it with a finger, the entire wall and door lit up like a Christmas tree on steroids.

“What the hell? Those are some serious wards.” I’d never seen the like. Patterns crisscrossing. Sigils. Symbols. Layers of magic woven in, with so many different signatures.

Alistair gestured. “This is the vault.” Almost said with an ominous dum-dum-dum. “It protects and hides some of the more unbalanced magic the TDCM has come across.”

“Unbalanced in what sense?” I asked, eyeing the seeming overkill of protection at the door. What could be so awful that they had to seal it so ridiculously?

“For lack of a better way to put it, there is good and evil in the world. Some things out there help make lives better, easier. Happier, too. Then there are things that don’t. Things that curse people with death, madness, disease.”

“Is that paper one of those cursed things?”

“Only to the weak-minded. So you should be fine.” He grinned, wide and so handsome my heart skipped a beat.

“Should be fine is not reassuring.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid?”

I feared many things, like what the man in front of me might mean to my future, but a tiny piece of paper? “I’m not scared.”

“Good.” Alistair moved to the little door, and it was then that I realized the statues of two wizards in ancient armor weren’t statues at all.

Heads covered in helms, their robes a thick woven material that glinted like metal, they held long blades. The lengthy, wooden hilts were polished smooth with only a hint of writing on the sanded surfaces. Script that glowed.

“Halt and state your business,” one of them stated.

“I have permission to be here.”

“She doesn’t,” said tin can number two.

“She’s with me.”

The two soldiers didn’t seem to care and kept their blades aimed.

I stepped closer to Alistair. “Are they going to kill me if you open that door?” I asked.

“Not unless they want to die a few seconds after. I have the full right and privilege to enter and bring whatever expert I deem necessary with me. They know better than to get in my way.”

“Why are they dressed so hardcore?” I’d never seen wizards armored before except in very old pictures.

“Mostly, they’re attired like this to protect themselves should they need to hold something off if it tries to exit.”

“Again, not reassuring.” I cast a glance over my shoulder as I stuck close to Alistair. They couldn’t hit me without hitting one of their own.

“A little bit of fear only serves to fuel adrenaline. Ready?” He placed his palm on the door, and I tensed.

Oh, boy. Here we go. “Let’s do it.”

Anticipation had me vibrating.

The door swung open, and nothing whipped out. Not even a tentacle.

I let go of a breath. One possibility I’d seen in a movie down, like a hundred to go. My vivid imagination had so many possible scenarios.

I expected something to fall on us walking through, so I let Alistair enter first. When he wasn’t crushed by stone, or screaming just inside the door, punctured by poisoned arrows, I stepped in.

I didn’t open my scrunched eyes until I realized nothing killed me. That eased my shoulders a bit more.

The expression on his face, wary and tense, tightened them again.

“Don’t touch anything,” Alistair warned. “Some of the things in here are dangerous.”

Some of them? The waves of energy, a lot of it malevolent in feeling, some of it slimy, washed over me in discordant jangles. Think of several choirs trying to sing completely different songs and nothing in rhythm. It was noise. Magical dissonance that dulled the senses.

“This is awful,” I said. “Whose bright idea was it to put all of this shit in one spot? I mean, you’ve got all you need for an Armageddon right here.”

“Which is why it’s in here. These pieces can subvert whoever has them in his or her possession. Compare it to a seductive siren song. But when too many sirens sing, the spell is interrupted. You can think, albeit with a bit of pain.”

“A bit. You’d better have something to fix my headache.” Only when he tossed me a very teasing grin did I realize how that sounded. “I meant Tylenol.”

“No need for pills. I have something better than that.” And damn if a wizard couldn’t purr.

“So where is this thing you want me to see?” I walked toward him, even as my gaze remained caught on a green helm, delicately balanced on the tip of a spear. It appeared made for a woman, the delicate filigree of the head covering fluted and curved.

I could raise an army. Make the world respect me. Battle for glory.

I blinked and looked away from the helmet and spear set. Focusing on a single item still had its dangers.

I almost bumped into Alistair as he stopped. His hands caught and steadied me.

“Here is the parchment.”

I looked down at it. The loose brown page was lined with age yet preserved with a magical spell of lamination meant to protect. The scribbled writing looped down the page. A scrawl that took some squinting to figure out, after you got past the scrambling enchantment on it.

“It’s a recipe,” I announced.

“You can read it?” he exclaimed.

“Of course, I can. It was mine before it fell out of my pocket.” Great-Nana’s recipe for permanent hair removal. No side effects known. At all. We would make it for a song, imbue it with the needed magic, market it to women who hated shaving their legs, and be rich. Only problem was, first I’d have to find a way to get around the FDA rules.

“This is your piece of paper?” He frowned. “How come I can’t read it? Or copy it? What language is this in?”

“English with shitty handwriting.” Nana liked big swirls and loops. “I spelled it to be unreadable when she died, and I inherited it. Do you know how rare some spells are?” Witches and sorceresses guarded their family recipes something fierce.

“But what about the fact that some of the wizards who studied it came out babbling about voices and demons.”

“My piece of paper wasn’t responsible.”

“Then what did it?”

Something dark tickled at me. Could Alistair not feel it…over to my right, ghostly tendrils reaching for me.

I pivoted and pointed. “That’s your problem.”

The innocuous horn, taken from some animal that no longer walked in our times, looked old, dried out, and slightly cracked along its brown curve. It also sizzled with energy.

Alistair walked away from me and headed to the horn, head canted to the side. “That? I don’t even know why it’s here. It appears to be a dud.”

“No dud.”

“Are you sure?” he asked with skepticism. “I sense nothing from it. Not even a slight whisper of magic.”

“It might be invisible to you, but let me tell you, that thing is oozing all kinds of weird vibes.”

A familiar one that reminded me of the Peabody place for some reason. But surely I was wrong. There couldn’t be a portal inside the vault.

Unless an object provided an anchor point.

I stopped a few feet away from the pedestal holding the horn. Precaution wasn’t something Alistair practiced. He walked right up to it, put his hand out, and touched it.

I squinted through one eye and didn’t see him blow up. Nor did he scream as if he burned.

“Still don’t feel anything,” he declared.

How could he not see the horn pulsing orange around his hand? It beat faster.

“I’m telling you, that horn is fucked.” I brought out a stronger word to describe the rapid flashing of the horn, the orange melting into red, then green, then yellow.

“It’s harmless.” He waved his hand around it, and something grabbed hold and yanked.

Alistair disappeared!